


Murky Waters

by beekeepercain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cumshot, Desperation, Destiel - Freeform, Exhibitionism, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fantasizing, Kinks, M/M, Masturbation, Other, Rain, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 20:49:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/740023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekeepercain/pseuds/beekeepercain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's definitely a downer to find oneself stuck in a car in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a pitch black night and the storm of the century, but what can you do about it? It comes down to the choice between being miserable about it - or making the most out of it. And Dean would definitely rather pick the cherries from the top. After all, privacy <i>is</i> something of a rare luxury for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Murky Waters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cadkitten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/gifts).



> Who am I? I don't even know anymore. I wrote this bit of plotless perversity while eating shrimp pizza, and for the record, I'm very allergic to both porn fiction and shrimp. No kidding, ladies and gents. So either I'm possessed or someone corrupted me.  
> I blame this on cadkitten, my fancy friend and a potential pitmate in hell, who inspired the main elements of this showdown of depravity. She also proofread it, which is cool. Thank you.
> 
> Please enjoy with the uttermost care.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

It was raining - in the proper downpour sort of manner, too. Dean slowed down for just a moment so he could rub his eyes without knocking himself dead on a tree, and then sped up again. The wheels didn't take all that well on the slippery road either, but damn if he wasn't in a hurry now.  
"C'mon, Baby."

His fingers slid down the wheel, then up again, caressing the familiar texture like a dear lover's skin. His eyes tracked the road ahead all the while his body repeatedly shifted in the seat. It was only a drive of some forty minutes from here, so why the hell was his body behaving this way now? Why did it have to be storming outside? Christ. Damn it all to hell.

His right hand slid unwillingly off of the wheel and his foot eased up on the pedal at the same time. He fumbled around blindly for his cell, which he assumed was somewhere on the seat Sam usually sat on. His fingers crawled across the leather bench, poking about, pushing at inches of empty air and meeting nothing. The silence was daring, only filled in by the constant noise of the engine that he considered the quiet of his own kind, a background that could have lulled him to sleep if it wasn't for the damn pressure building up inside him. Finally, his nail collided with the plastic of his phone, and he grabbed it like a predator catches his prey. It fell nicely into his palm with the strength of his fingers, and its shape pressed against his flesh in an almost comforting manner. It meant he'd kept this phone much too long - the phone and the number alike.  
With a sigh, he flipped off the lock and glanced at the numbers presented on the top corner of the screen. 3:04am.  
Again, damn it all to hell.

He tossed the phone back on the seat, barely hearing the soft thud it created on contact to the leather. He adjusted again and cursed, moving his thigh frustratedly in contact to the other. It definitely seemed like he'd need to cut the drive short and get wet. Out of all the things he did not want, that was definitely way up map north. With a sense of defeat he drove on, not towards a destination anymore, but to find a place where he could pull over. He finally did find such a spot, a bus stop in the middle of freaking nowhere, and parked the car there.  
Rain still washed over the windshield like a flood falling down from heavens above.

"God."  
He opened the door, and the sound of rain became almost deafeningly loud.  
"Fucking."  
He pushed his feet out and grabbed the door for balance.  
"Damn it."  
He was out and he was drenched.

The door closed behind him just in time to not let a whole ocean indoors, and he leaned against it, wrenching open his belt and pushing his hand down in his pants to grab his cock. That sensation along with the cursed, ice cold rain that battered the all too sensitive skin made him wince and whimper into the noisy nothingness surrounding him.  
Every sensible man with a normal car would have just pissed right out of it, but he was not a sensible man with a normal car. He was an obsessively protective man with a car that could pass for his wife, and he was not pissing on it.  
Well, technically, he was now pissing on it, what with the whole lean-back-onto-the-Impala-while-watering-the-flood deal he was pulling off, but that was beside the point. He placed the sole of his shoe against the car's low bottom and stared down at the ground that he could barely see as he relieved himself. He noticed he was chewing at his lip at that same time, possibly to not let out any stray sound, even if it was just the same if he had, considering his pair of ears was the only one that'd take notice.  
He took the time to push his hair off his forehead, wishing someone were here to carry an umbrella for him, especially since his bladder seemed to have grown a couple inches since the last time he'd gotten it so full. With a half-relieved, half-fucking-done sigh he pushed his freshly showered dick back into his pants and slipped back onto the driver's seat to deal with the zipper, the button, and the belt.  
However, his coordination seemed to have taken damage from all the hanging out in a hurricane bullshit, and he pulled the door closed so that once it hit the frames, his slippery wet fingers slid right off the handle and landed him on his back on the seat.

A worn laugh escaped him. He rubbed at his face with both hands and figured he'd had a much too long of a ride for his sanity, which was already about as questionable as a functioning man's sanity could get without slipping past the line of downright crazy.  
He watched the shadows playing about the nearly pitch black ceiling above him, his right hand slipping down on the floor while his left was caught by his side and the bench. The fingers of that one had turned to rubbing at his exposed belly, trailing through the fine hair that reached to the hem of his boxers. He reached for the belt, but it slipped through his fingers. He nearly made it for the zipper, but not quite, as he lost motivation halfway through and instead laid his hand over the bulge of his cock under the partially wet cloth of his underwear.  
Under his head, he felt the firm shape of the phone. With a grunt, he pulled it out with the hand he'd left hanging, and picked S. Calter from the list to notify him that all the odds that were against the reunion of them tonight. He'd have to come up with something better next time, S. Calter sounded like a plumber and that made him feel uneasy.

The line made him wait for a good long fifteen seconds before S. Calter finally picked up.  
"Dean, what's up?"

"Nothing, Sammy. I'm just done with the weather, man. It's like a frickin' monsoon brewing right up here. So uh, I don't think I'm going anywhere. It's still like a thousand miles to the motel and the road's pure bull."

On the other end of the line, Sam made a sound and shifted. Then there was a silence - he had probably laid down on a comfortable motel bed and returned to whatever non-porn he'd been looking through on his laptop before Dean had called. If there had ever been a reason for Dean to envy his brother, this was it.  
"Come on, stop flaunting your comfort, asshole, I'm stuck in the car, man."

Sam let out a laugh.  
"Okay, sorry. I'll take a long shower then if you're not coming around and maybe eat a warm meal before a good night's s-"

"Dude, _bite me._ Hope you have plenty of nightmares tonight."  
 _Beep_. Dean tossed the phone on the backseat and made a mental note to not answer if it would ring within the next thirty minutes. Maybe karma would send some unknown monster charging right in while Sam was showering. Maybe the monster would devour his guts and, along with that, whatever fine microwave meal he'd had before.

The man barely noticed his fingers had started trailing along the shape of his cock while he'd been distracted by annoyance. The notion now that he surfaced to it made him close his eyes and lean his head back, wiping all the thoughts about his asshole brother right out of his mind. In fact, there wasn't much of anything left in his head after that. Instead, the scents of the car took over him, pouring in to fill up the buzzing emptiness, and he suddenly felt quite comfortable there. The weather, the damn liquid icicles aside, was warm enough to not change the temperature inside the car at all - at least not yet, not this soon after he'd stopped. So maybe he wasn't that badly off after all. Getting stuck in the car meant one positive thing over all the negatives: as godawful as it was; he had privacy. In this setting, it wasn't only that, either; it was proper, unthreatened privacy. He was off the map for ten miles still; absolutely nobody would be coming around these parts. That was a luxury he was rarely presented.

With a suppressed, pleased grunt, he settled deeper onto the seats and bent one knee to rest against the leather to his side. He abandoned restraint and instead let his fingers do what they instinctively found important. They slid along his hardening length, grabbing it tryingly every now and then, and sending flashes of pleasure into his system. If he'd been capable of that, he would have purred, so comfortable he felt in his skin all of a sudden. Nevermind the wetness - the water had already warmed up, and it existed as a sense of weight over his shoulders, scalp, and hips. This situation could be turned to benefit him, and he had nothing against that. If he'd had a magazine to provide him with some willing and silent company, it wouldn't have hurt him, but hell, he still had his imagination. And besides, poking about with a flashlight while trying to jerk off, just to see some tits, was some unnecessary trouble he simply didn't want to partake in.

He pressed his palm down to cup his cock, then pushed his fingers into the fabric of the boxers still covering it, and gave it a couple soft strokes like that. Little by little his fingertips moved past the clothes and under them to form a nice, warm pocket for the whole hand. His eyes were still watching the ceiling, a sense of alertness lingering at the edges of his clouded mind, ears full of the sounds of rain, and every now and then the beating of his own heart pushing through all of that to make itself known. His lips parted as his hand started working his length harder, a finger straying off the shaft to stroke the tip as his palm came closer, sliding off again as he moved his hand down. His breathing slowly turned heavier, and little by little the reservations he'd held fell down like old dams, turning to rubble that was trampled over by the scraps and shadows of all kinds of fantasies his mind was turning over. He was looking for something that'd turn him on tonight, something to send that healthy dose of careless madness he needed running through his veins. The slightest hint of desperation crossed his consciousness when he realised he was quickly running out of those healthy kinks he had and charging knee-deep into the murky waters of his less-explored turn-ons, but he suppressed that quickly (after all, what was morality when you were stuck so far from society) and gave himself a light encouragement to simply continue. With his hand gripping his hot flesh with growing strength and intensity, he went there, crossed the line, and took a shot in the dark for whatever came in next. He discarded the panties, it didn't work so well when he didn't actually have those anywhere near him, and the mere excitement of knowing panties existed was hardly enough to turn him on. On he went, touching briefly on the hopes that one day he could trust someone enough to tie him up, but that breathed life into the monster in the depths of the lake he scoured that he didn't want to disturb, the one that ate him from the inside at the darkest hours of the night when he tried to sleep, telling him he wasn't worth having anyone, that he'd never meet a woman who -

\- and he swallowed the thought, closed his eyes and concentrated on dragging a finger from the very top of his dick and down again. The movement released a shiver that echoed along his body, and a grin pushed itself onto his lips like a lunatic forcing his way through a mass of silent grievers. He swallowed, returning to those dark waters ahead.  
Perhaps there was a rope there, in that particular can of worms he'd discarded. He tried it, fingers grasping the length that was now almost as hard as it would get, but not moving as he waited for a reaction. And yes, there it was.  
The fingers of his free hand dragged along the soft leather of the seat he was lying on and he smiled.

The excitement, the potential in his mind, made his heart sound like a drum counting time to the very imminent execution. He breathed in, pretended he'd call the name, pretended it was just about to slip off the tip of his tongue - that he'd call his angel here, to see this, or at least awaken him to _hear_ ,

'Cas, could you tune in?'

That he could say, it was so close to just sneaking out of his throat, a voice so faint he would barely hear it himself, but it would echo in the mind of the angel and then he would _hear_ Dean's gasping breaths and the wet sound of his dick when he moved his hand along the shaft faster and faster and... All it would take were those words, one whisper, the name...  
'Castiel.'

His tongue tried it. The feel was so intense it turned his sweat cold from fear,

_What if you actually fucking say it aloud?_  
What if you did?  
What if he's listening?  
  
Did you say it aloud, Dean?  
 _Fuck..._

The sticky, warm pre-cum that lingered at the tip of his cock was brushed aside by his forefinger. It spread the liquid over the foreskin that in turn trapped it under itself and smeared onto his palm as he stretched it back again.

"You hear me?" he whispered, the words wavering as he spoke.  
He wasn't even entirely sure if he had to _call_ for Castiel. Maybe just talking to him was enough to get him listening. He'd never asked. His mouth was open and he breathed in gasps and huffed out sighs and trembling whimpers and quiet moans, gripping and jerking himself off like his fucking life depended on it.  
His left hand held the back of the seat while his right one fucked him harder, imitating flesh of another, perhaps - no, that far he wouldn't go.  
No, he...  
... the images were there, though. And he didn't really want to push them away either. They were there and fucking hell were they hot - the angel bending over, bare, submissive, as his hand grasped his hair and signaled him who was in control... His hoarse, low voice letting out sounds he'd never heard him make, full of all the tones of sin that did not belong in it.

"Do you fucking hear me?"  
Desperation in his voice.  
"The way I'd fuck you? The way I'm lying here in my fucking car, jerking myself off to the thought of you against a fucking wall like the pretty little bitch you always wanted to be?"

And on top of that, the one syllable he had never intended to speak, much less as it now came out -

"Cas."

And the shock was enough, the fear, the realisation, the shame - it got him off so well he arched off the seat and let out a sound that he didn't even know if it belonged to him in the first place, his ears full of the sound of an ocean inside him, rushing right through his veins. His fingers, no, his whole goddamn hand and boxers and _fucking everything_ stained with fresh cum, and he didn't even think of stopping as he milked every last drop of his pleasure out until he was sore and panting and so afraid and embarrassed it burned his tear ducts like chili powder.

He let out a gasp that resembled more the cry of a terrified child than a sound made by a man who had just had one of the best orgasms of his entire life, petrified and frozen on scene. His hand was covered in cum, so were his pants, some of the stains reaching way up on his stomach and probably on his shirt as well, as he sure as hell hadn't pulled it up to any stretch of safety imaginable, as he'd never intended to pull his dick out of his pants to begin with.  
He trembled and his breathing just wouldn't settle, and the adrenaline stemming from his fear of getting caught was all over the place, carried about by the fluttering of his heart.

To his utter horror, he felt weight shifting over the seat's back, and a wave of warm air leaked over and about the back of his arm now resting stiffly over his stomach. He waited, holding his breath even though it hurt like hell because his body _needed_ that oxygen he was now all but denying it.  
Finally he couldn't do that anymore, and at the same time as he finally allowed himself to breathe, he opened an eye.

He saw the ceiling of the car and the rain on the windshield and the comfort of all of the nothing that surrounded the facts.  
"What in the seven hells, man..." he mumbled, rubbing his eyes frantically, feeling the deepest sense of relief washing over him, "What the fucking fuck got into you...? That's it."

He pulled himself up, reaching for the used serviettes in the plastic bag under the dashboard. On his fingers he felt the rough, dry bits of cheese and whatever else had been wiped off his mouth a few hours earlier when he'd finished his burger, but he didn't care. With that paper he wiped off as much of the cum as he could, momentarily about as disgusted by the load of it as a guy could be, his heartbeat still the loudest sound in his ears and his whole face burning up with both release and relief as he cleaned himself up.  
When he was done, he pushed the paper back in the bag and opened the door to wash his hands in the rainfall that was still as strong as ever. Weakness started settling in his body, a sense of heaviness that told him he'd sleep if only he'd try now.

With a grimace, he fell back on the seat.  
"Yeah, that's it, Dean Winchester. You are forever banned from masturbation. Well fucking done."


End file.
